


The Art

by imabeatlemaniac (SimonTamSherlockBabe)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Elvis's Music, F/M, Gen, Hairdressing, Homosexuality, Internet, London, Lots of rain, M/M, Music, Rain, Rock and Roll, Same Sex Marriage, THE ART, Tea, The Beatles - Freeform, emotionally distant, l'art, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimonTamSherlockBabe/pseuds/imabeatlemaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this modern AU John Lennon wants to get away from it all. Every thing, his ex, his Aunt, London. Paul is a working class boy working at a coffee shop called  'L'art'. But a chance meeting with John may start something neither anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet John

**Author's Note:**

> Heya there! So I'm doing a multiple chapter story. It's my first try at a modern AU, and please note that I've tried to make a lot of Beatles history fit my setting. So there are a lot of things that DID happen just with some slight changes to setting and when and who it happened to. There is also some OOC-ness, please forgive that. But I'm also trying to keep their personalities correct. And for those who are unaware, Ringo originally wanted to become a hair dresser. And this story is in London, not Liverpool.
> 
> Enjoy!

John looked at the ceiling of his bedroom. His finger deftly running over the strings of his guitar. Damn Mimi, well _Aunt_ Mimi. She hated it when John just called her Mimi. They had just had a row and John had once more been banished to his room. He couldn't wait to get out of there. Not just out of the apartment, but out of fucking _London_ he _hated_ it there. 

He hated it all, from the Thames river, to the stupid city noises that never ended. To their stupid neighbors. Who were they the 'Epsteins'? Fucking queer couple right next door. Now John didn't have anything against them, not all all, he was tolerant of sexualities, but his bedroom was next to theirs and well.... the stories _he_ could tell.

He was just having a really bad day, he hated arguing with Mimi, because _she_ was paying for art school, _she_ raised him, and _she_ was letting him stay in this good-for-nothing apartment. It was raining, he abhorred the rain. Granted it rained ALL the fucking time. This was England after all, in winter, but he couldn't stand it. Stuart, his boyfriend, had just dumped him after class today. That 'Astrid' tart had taken him away from John.

John's fingers strummed the open strings in anger as the memory flooded back and tears pricked his eyes.

_"John, we need to talk about something," Stuart began._

_"Oh fucking christ," John said._

_"What?"_

_"That's how women always start conversations about........" John's eyes widened, "Oh..."_

_"Yeah," Stuart replied, looking at his feet._

_"Why?"_

_"Astrid."_

_"Oh."_

_"Yeah."_

_"I'll be on my way then," John said turning on his heel, half hoping that Stuart would stop him, explain, or even give a feeble 'I'm sorry'._

_Nothing._

John broke from his reverie and wiped his eyes.

"John? What's wrong?" Mimi asked through the closed door.

"Nothing Mimi! Go away!"

"You were crying awfully loud."

"GO AWAY!" John yelled.

There was a scoff and the sound of feet moving away from him. John went back to hating his life. He loved art, he was an artistic person really. He did drawings and poetry, albeit, odd poetry. He even wrote a few songs. But Mimi wanted him to be an accountant. Of course a woman from the stone age would want him to be something sensible. John hated numbers though, let alone working with them for a living. Looking at it all, there didn't seem to be much John _didn't_ hate at the moment. But he supposed it was from the sting of Stu dropping him like it was nothing, just so he could fuck someone with tits. John sighed, he doubted he'd meet someone else like Stu, Stu had been amazing.

John rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into his pillow, he felt so used and dejected. Would it really have been so hard for Stu to even say "I'm sorry about this" ? Apparently. That stung like a bitch. John stared at the blue pillowcase and tried not to think too much at the moment. He didn't want to cry. He'd had his share of crying and he wasn't about to give Stu anymore silent satisfaction of making the great John Lennon cry more. No. He pulled the quilted blanket Mimi had made for him as a child over himself and snuggled down.

He'd always lived with his Aunt and had minimal contact with his mother. He was a mistake. Unprotected sex with one of her numerous boyfriends, if you could call them that, and voila, John came to be. He should have counted his blessings that he hadn't been aborted. Julia had come close to it. But Mimi had spoken up and said that she'd take care of John. Therefor saving John's life. So he did owe a lot to Mimi. But as soon as John was born Julia split and went back to drinking herself to death, and shooting herself up with heroin. She was in New York John last heard.

He sniffled, this thought hadn't helped at all. Julia, his own mother, didn't love him, his boyfriend left him, Mimi was mad at him for coming home in the middle of the day from school, he wasn't feeling very loved. John waited another two minutes until he heard Mimi go to her late afternoon bridge came before he left his tears flow. Mimi hated to hear him cry so he always cried when no one else could hear. He sniffled and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"Why?" John asked to no one, "Why me?"

This was a question he'd been asking pretty often. He did know that he was rather lucky. He was rather well off, he pretty much had whatever he wanted. But he'd always fucked up with relationships. No matter what kind of relationships they were.

He pulled himself off and swore he wouldn't dwell on this, it wasn't helping matter any.... at all. He put his shoes on and grabbed his raincoat. A walk could do him good, or he could try to drown himself in the Tames. Both sound rather gruesome. He exited the apartment and left the building. He walked down the rain stained sidewalk. Cars zoomed by him, that's all London ever seemed to be, cars, people, shops, buildings of concrete and iron.

John was fascinated by architecture. So long as it was old churches and older buildings. Now everything was so sleek and modern, so... square, and grey, and, boring. That was the word he was looking for. He always looked for strange shops and other places, that stood out yet hid in busy London. They could be so obvious, but people overlooked them because they were different. Hiding in plain sight as it were.

When John was with his friends he always went along with them to all the new modern places. But now that he was alone with himself, he was free to go where he pleased. And he looked for these places as he walked down London's busy streets.

Splash.

John froze and stood still. "Fuck!" he muttered angrily. He was soaked from head to toe from a puddle on the side of the road. He sighed and put his head in his hands. Now his glasses were filthy.

He swallowed back frustrated tears when he heard some music. It sounded like Elvis actually. John loved Elvis, he loved his rock and roll ways and his music was amazing. But he rarely heard it in public. Not enough people listened to Elvis anymore. And he wanted to search out the location of this music.

He found it at a odd little coffee shop, the name, painted in yellow, on a sign, nailed to the outside of the shop, was 'L'art'. John knew some French, Mimi had taken him on a trip there when he finished High School, he had ended his years there with good grades and he got to visit Paris. So he knew the coffee shop was 'The Art'.

"The Art of what?" John scoffed, but the music was inside, and he always followed music.


	2. Meet Paul

Paul's alarm went off and he peeled his eyes open, it was five o'clock and he needed to get up. He groaned and turned the alarm off, dragging himself out of bed. The semi-darkness of working class London kept him busy.

He stilled lived at home, his father had agreed to let him stay there through college. Paul wished he could live on campus but he could barely afford going to school let alone living there.

He threw on a pair of faded jeans and a green sweater. He wasn't about to take any chances, it looked like rain. He laced up his sneakers, he needed a new pair soon, the soles were almost worn through. He doubted he could afford it though, working part time at a strange little coffee shop didn't really give him much pocket money, and shoes were expensive. He considered stopping by the thrift shop not far from where he worked and get a "decent" pair of shoes.

He sighed and ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. He pulled it back and tied it. He put on his rain coat and left. He could do some thinking while he walked.

He was in college now. How in the world he was affording it was something he couldn't fathom. He was one of those people who was in school not knowing what to become. It was ridiculous and he knew it. He really needed to figure out what to do with his life. He sighed, this wasn't the time to contemplate what profession he wanted to be.

His mother had wanted him to become a doctor. She had been a nurse herself and for a while Paul had contemplated doing that for a while. But his mother's death stopped that idea. If those stupid doctors couldn't fucking save her life..... well Paul didn't want to be one.

Mary's death had been a real blow to Paul. He had receded emotionally and become very distant. There was a lot of walking on egg shells around him at that time. Looking back it seemed that Mike and his father were waiting for Paul to kill himself.

Paul wasn't denying that he had considered it. Not in the least. But he was never fully committed to the idea. When he got his job. It was a welcome break, before it turned into monotony. Then he relapsed again into his emotionally repressed state.

He never fully recovered emotionally from his mother's death, he just never had. So he wasn't always 'there' in a sense, at least not emotionally. He tried his best, but his mother's death had showed him how much people can hurt each other, at least inadvertently.

He wished Mike would stop trying to drop out of school. He and his dad ensured that Mike stayed in school. He only had this year left and it looked like he would be going to college on a full scholarship. Mike kept trying to get part time jobs and night shift jobs. But either Jim or Paul would stop it. Paul was worried about his brother sometimes though. But he brother didn't want him to worry and usually kept Paul at an arms length, which was irritating to Paul occasionally.

Paul walked on, trying to ignore the rain, it was making him rather cold.

He got to school and his classes went by rather quickly, mostly core things like math, English, and science classes. Nothing special, but lots of work. And he had tests coming soon. He sighed.

But once his final class was over, he headed straight to work. He actually enjoyed his job. Most people don't enjoy their jobs, but Paul liked walking everyday into a place that smelled like coffee, it was almost his second home seeing that he spent so much time there.

He walked into the back the back and threw on his apron. Setting his backpack aside.

"Hey Jane," Paul said.

"Hey Paul," Jane replied.

“Can you help me with this?” she asked, trying to put a heavy box on top of a shelf.

Paul nodded and went to her aid, helping her put away the box.

“Thanks,” She said and went out front.

Paul watched as she left. Jane owned and worked at the little coffee shop. She had once confided in Paul that it was her hope and dream to own a little place of her own. And when her parents died they had left her a sizable sum of money so she quit being a model and opened up this little coffee shop. Affectionately named L’art. She had studied French in school and that had stuck with her for some reason. ‘The Art’ was then the new name of her shop.

Paul marveled at her, not only was she beautiful, but she had done something he never could, be successful in whatever she did.

The rest of the afternoon went at a rather sluggish pace, not too many people stopped in and nothing really happened. Aside from Paul sloshing a hot cup of tea down Jane’s shirt, slightly on purpose he would admit. The day was almost like any other. At about four when nothing ever happened, people were at work, and the midday “rush” was over, Paul put on some music.

Music, it was a hobby of his. It wasn’t anything he took rather seriously. Sure, he had a guitar, and yes, he could play fairly decently. He could play some classical guitar, as well as some Elvis, Little Richard, and various ‘80s artists. But his ambition wasn’t to ever really do much about music. He loved it sure, but it was a hobby. A fun hobby nonetheless.

He had his phone with him, and he was in an Elvis mood that day, so he put on ‘All Shook Up’ and nodded his head to the beat. He sipped a cup of tea as he watched the rain fall from the steely sky to the bland, wet, grey sidewalk below. People scurried like mice to where ever they needed to be next. Paul chuckled at them softly as he watched them avoid getting rained on.

It had rained the day his mother died. He remembered that very much. And it never seemed to have stopped raining for a year afterward, though it probably did, but at least not inside his heart. And because of that all the days in those memories spent looking out the window blankly seem to be rather rainy and bleak.

But he still liked the rain.

He smiled to himself, he was a much happier person now. While he didn’t smile as much as other people, he was amiable, friendly, and if you knew him well enough, rather nice.

He looked up from his book to see a soaking wet man standing in front of him, shivering. How he got so wet was beyond Paul. His auburn hair was stuck to his face and his black woolen sweater and blue jeans stuck to his body. His shoes and socks squelched as he shifted his weight.

Paul noted the uncomfortableness that surrounded this man, as if he was out of place. Which wasn’t far from the mark.


	3. Chapter Three- The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I want to acknowledge my co-author Elsa. She is vital to this story.

Paul stared at the soaked man in front of him, "Yes?"

John stood there saying nothing, he was a bit too taken by Paul.

"Look," Paul said, "You're dripping all over the carpet, it's going to be ruined, and you either need to buy something or leave."

Paul didn't mean for what he said to come out so harshly, but this guy was just standing there staring at him, and it was making him a little uncomfortable.

"Oh, um sorry," John said, well aware that he was dripping every where, "I got splashed by a car."

John had no idea why he was explaining himself to this guy.

"Are you going to get anything?" Paul asked.

"Tea?" John replied.

Paul nodded and got up to make some.

John fished out his money and paid for it, just setting the money on the counter.

"Good music," John said to Paul.

Paul nodded as he made the tea, "You like Elvis?"

"I fucking _love_ Elvis," John said.

Paul laughed a bit, "I like him well enough, but he's not my favorite."

"What?! But it's Elvis!"

Paul shrugged, "I just said he's not my favorite. I prefer Little Ricard."

John's jaw dropped to the ground, how could this guy not like Elvis that much?

"Why Little Richard?"

"Why not?"

This guy just wouldn't let up, and Paul was a bit intrigued.

"But--" John said.

"Listen, I like Elvis fine, he's really great. But that doesn't mean I adore him."

John nodded, "I get that I suppose."

Paul pressed the cup of tea to John's hands, his fingers gently brushing over John's. He retracted his hand quickly. "What's your name?" Paul asked John.

"John," John said, "Yours?"

"Paul."

"Paul," John said softly, rolling the name around in his mouth, testing it. He sipped his tea. "Well, Paul, you make a very good cup of tea."

"Thanks, my mother taught me how to make a decent cup."

Paul couldn't understand why he was telling this utter stranger all this, well, he at least knew John's name. But he felt a connection with John, somehow.

"Real mother's boy aren't you?" John asked with a slight smirk.

Paul looked at John, his face blank. John noticed slight sadness and pain in those brown eyes.

"Oh? I.. No", He was trying to keep away the pain and anguish that hit him, trying to not let this total stranger realize how much this was hurting him.

John tried to break from Paul's intense gaze but he couldn't. 

Paul spoke again, "She died". 

John didn't know what to say except, "Sorry."

Paul kept looking at John, he could feel John's sympathy. 

"Can we drop this topic?"

John nodded, he felt like it would be a long while before Paul would ever tell him about his mother. And it would probably take him as long to tell Paul about Julia.There was a   
pause in the conversation as John finished his tea.

"I better get going," John said.

Paul nodded, "I'll be seeing you then I suppose."

"That you will Paulie, that you will," John said.

"Don't call me that!" Paul called after him as he left.

But John didn't hear him.


	4. Chapter Four

John hadn't return. Paul had been half-hoping that he would. It was strange really. He couldn't explain why John not returning hurt him just a bit. He tried to brush it off, it was just some random guy who liked Elvis right? But that was far easier said than done.

Paul was on his day off and he was spending the afternoon with George

George had been Paul's friend for a long time, they had almost grown up together. Once George had reached his second year in high school he'd found his niche in a group of goths. And while he wasn't as into it as some he definitely changed a bit.

George had an older brother Pete, that he never talked much about, well, he didn't talk about much of anything for that matter, he was rather quiet.  
Paul and George had agreed to meet up at a place for some lunch. Both Paul and George had saved up enough from their prospective jobs to go and eat this once.  
They were sitting talking. Just catching up, even though they were childhood friends they were also very busy with their lives now. They exchanged useless information and laughed a lot.

Randomly and Elvis song came on amongst the newer pop music, it was odd.

Paul smiled. He thought of John then, no particular reason but he remembered how passionate John had been about Elvis.

"Why are you smiling?" George asked.

"Can't I smile for no reason?" Paul replied.

"Yes, but there's usually an explanation when a dreamy look accompanies the smile."

Paul blushed a bit, "About a week ago, a guy came into work--"

"Aw," George mockingly swooned.

"Shut up. And he was soaked," Paul continued.

"Which /never/ happens here in England."

Paul glared at him, "And he told me he liked Elvis."

George looked like he was about to say something when suddenly Richard popped up.

He looked at the blank expressions on both of their faces "Oh, it's nice to know I'm so welcome, you _did_ invite me here today Georgie," Richard said.

"I know Ritchie, sit down."

From out of the corner of his eye, Paul thought he saw John walk by.

"Excuse me," he said and stood up.

He walked to the figure and discovered that it was indeed John.

"John?" Paul said quietly.

"Fuck off," John said sharply.

Paul was taken aback, he wasn't usually spoken to like that. "P-pardon?"

John put on his glasses to look at the person the hurt look came from. His eyes widened, "Sorry."

There was just one question on Paul's tongue at that moment, no matter how needy he knew he sounded when he said it, "How come you never came back?"


	5. I'm Sorry

John stood for a moment, looking at Paul. What could he say? That he had just been putting Paul on? That he had never actually /planned/ to go back there?  
John looked into those eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes. He could tell that Paul was trying to figure him out.

John _knew_ that he owed Paul nothing. It wasn't like they were friends or anything like that. They barely even knew each other! He answered anyways.

"I had things to do. I didn't know that I _had_ to go back," John said.

Paul was looking straight into his eyes and it was both soothing and intimidating. Mostly intimidating. Paul's lips immediately shaped into a silent "O", and said, "I figured," a smirk forming on his lips

John was confused, figured what? That he had been busy or that he didn't know that he had to come back?

Paul couldn't help but laugh at John's confusion, "I was hoping to see you again." 

John wiggled his eyebrows, "Oh, were you?" 

Paul rolled his eyes "Will you let me finish, John?" and chuckled. 

John was fascinated at how Paul could be so confident. 

"So," Paul continued, "I was at a music store the other day and I saw this" he searched his pockets and took out a guitar pick. An Elvis guitar pick. "It's nothing, really. Cheap as hell, but I couldn't help myself and got it.. For you, of course, not for me."

John noticed how he was rambling, and smiled. 

"So, here. Take it."

"And this is why you stopped me in the middle of the street?" John asked.

Paul's eyes widened, and John was amused.

"Hey!, what if I never saw you again?" He winked at John. 

John didn't miss this, had this man just winked at him?

"Right," was the only thing John said.

Paul was really disappointed, he had hoped for a bit more excitement from John. He just hoped it wasn't obvious.

It was.

"Gotta get going then, my mates are waiting for me," John's glare was intense and questioning. 

Paul didn't know what to say. How could he explain himself? What was he thinking buying a stupid thing for a stupid stranger? "See you around, then." He started walking when a voice stopped him.

"What about tomorrow night?" John called. Paul smiled widely. He turned around and John saw his smile, it was set.

"See you at 7?" John asked.

"Yeah, right here."

John smiled and while he lit a cigarette he said, "I'll be seeing you then," he winked and walked off into the crowd.

Paul watched as John walked away, with the distinct feeling that next day, was going to be different.


	6. Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, I've actually got this thing written through 29 I think and I haven't looked at it in months. But I really ought to finish it. It's a good fic, I think.

Paul was waiting for John where they had agreed to meet, on the street Paul had stopped him, in front of the funny bookstore. He watched as the cars passes by. It was cold and damp and he pulled his jaket closer around himself. 

He waited another few minutes and then he saw John's figure walking toward him.

"Hey," Paul greeted.

John nodded in recognition of Paul. "Hey."

Paul moved over to John and they started to walk.

"Where are we going?" Paul asked.

"Nowhere really. Just walking. It's a nice night," John replied.

Paul nodded, "Yeah it is."

There was a long pause before John spoke.

"So, are you in college?" John asked.

"Yeah," Paul replied.

"What you going in for?"

"Dunno, I was going to be a doctor for a while, but medical school is ridiculously expensive. So now I don't know what to be, and this is my third year and apparently I really need to make a decision," Paul said.

"What if you don't?" John asked.

"I don't know, stop going to college? I can't really afford it even, I'm up to my ears in debt," Paul sighed. "What about you?"

John nodded, "I'm in art school."

Paul couldn't help but laugh, "Art school? Seriously? Could you be more impractical?"

John glared at him, "Well it's a lot better than not knowing what to be."

Paul's face dropped.

"I want to major in architecture," John said.

"Oh..."

"Yeah."

"What else do you do? Any hobbies?" Paul asked, trying to change the subject.

"Music, I play guitar," John added.

Paul smiled, "Really?"

"Yeah, I'm not that good, and I can't tune it myself, but I play."

"I do too," Paul said. "And I can tune it."

"Well aren't you something special?" John replied.

Paul rolled his eyes playfully, "I'll show you how to some time."

"Really?" John inquired.

"Yeah, it's really not that difficult. I don't see how you can't do it."

John gently punched Paul in the shoulder, "And I don't know why you can't stop being a prick."

Paul glared at him, "Back at you."

"What me?"

"Yes, you."

"So....... changing the subject, any music you like?"

"Like I've told you mostly old stuff, but some 80's stuff is pretty decent."

John nodded, "The 80s were okay for music, but not my favorite."

"The 70s were worse though."

John nodded in agreement. "But what do you play? Like on your guitar?"

"Just rock standards nothing fancy jeez. Since when do you like music so much?"

"Music, it's almost my life. I love it."

"Music isn't _that_ great. It's better left as a hobby."

"Come on haven't you ever dreamed of being part of a rock group or something?"

"No, I prefer to keep my dreams practical."

"Where's the fun it that?" John asked exasperated.

"There isn't much, but you know, not being in debt sounds like fun."

John rolled his eyes, "Didn't you ever dream of being something ridiculous when you were growing up?"

"Yeah," Paul said.

"What?"

"I don't know, loads of different things."

"Like...." John prompted.

"A doctor, there," Paul said this quickly.

"Well that's /very/ creative," John said.

Paul felt his throat tighten. "Well what about you?"

"What about me? Being in a rock band, it's still my dream."

"Then why are you in architecture?"

"My aunt wants me to do something sensible that will be a steady job. But where's the fun in a stable career?"

"A steady income."

John looked at Paul in disbelief. "What is it with you and this slight fixation with money?"

"Well being a working class kind of guy money means a stable life."

John didn't know what to say then, he never had to really worry about finances and stuff like that. But obviously

Paul did, which suddenly explained a lot.

"Have you ever worried about money?" Paul asked, he was fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, not meeting John's gaze.

"No,"John said.

Paul smirked to himself, "I didn't think so."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing I suppose," Paul said, shifting his weight, "It's just you've never lived pay check to pay check."

"You're right, I haven't."

"It's not easy. But look at you, you're middle class, I bet your shoes still have the soles on them," he said motioning to John's feet.

John gave Paul a questioning look.

"Mine are almost worn through," he clarified.

"R-really?" John had never really met a person like Paul in either life style, or just him in general.

"Yeah, I've been needing to buy some new shoes for a while now. I keep trying to go to discount stores looking for a decent pair. I just haven't had the time," he replied matter-of-factly.

John nodded, he just didn't know what to say.

"We're pretty close to where I live," Paul said.

John nodded.

"I better be getting home."

"Oh?", John couldn't understand what had just happened..

"Um, see you?"

"I.. What.. Are you- " But he couldn't finish his question, for he was interrupted by Paul.

"I am, yeah," Paul said and winked.

John smiled at him but he saw something really odd in Paul.

Paul lifted his arm and touched John slightly on his shoulder "See you around then"

"Yeah, Bye," John watched Paul walk away. He then turned around and started to walk home, trying to figure this complicated guy out. 


	7. Chapter 7

A few days later Paul was at work. He had been really busy that day. Lot's of people had come in and he hadn't even had a chance to catch his breath.

When he saw George and Richard come in he sighed, he was still really busy and he'd have to make any conversation while working.

"Hey Paul," George said.

"Hey George, Richard," Paul acknowledged. He handed them a pad of sticky notes and a pen. "If you want something write it down I'll get to it as soon as I can."

"Are you that busy, because we can come back at a better time," Richard offered.

"No I'm fine, no need to leave," Paul replied. He finished up the coffee he was making and took it to the customer. "So what's new with you?"

"Olivia and I had an argument last night," George said.

"Over what?"

"It was just a petty argument."

"Well I figured that much."

"Hey!"

"When was an argument between you two not petty?"

George opened his mouth to talk.

"Excuse me," Paul said and smirked. He took another beverage to a customer.

"Screw you McCartney," George said when Paul came back.

Paul winked at him, "What about you Richard? Anything new?"

"Um, not really," Richard replied.

"Really? Nothing?" Paul asked.

"I finally convinced my girlfriend to let me practise styling hair on her, but that's about it," Ricahrd said.

"Well that's something."

Richard nodded.

Paul finally got the last few drinks done and given to their prospective people and he could finally work on George's coffee.

"So what's new with you Paul?" George asked.

"Nothing really, just--" Paul cut himself off when he heard the door open and he saw John standing there, his guitar slung over his shoulder.

John walked over to them, "Hey," he said quietly.

Ringo could almost _feel_ something a bit off, he looked at Paul and just saw how tense Paul was at that moment.

"Got anytime to teach an old folk like me how to tune this piece of shit?" John asked.

Paul laughed softly and smiled, "I'm off in about an hour, meet me here then, we'll go to my place."

Ringo gave a fake cough to get their attention.

"Oh, hi," John said.

"We're Paul's friends, I'm Richard and this is George," Ringo introduced them.

"John," John replied.

"So in an hour John?" Paul said, trying to get John's attention again.

"Yeah, I'll be here," and with that John left.


	8. Guitar Lessons

John and Paul were upstairs in Paul's room. They were sitting across from each other as if they were the others reflection. The bed was comfortable and Paul was exceptionally patient as he was helping John learn to tune his guitar.

"John, no, like this," Paul leaned over and put his hand on John's helping him get it to the right pitch.

John sighed, "This is so fucking hard!" he exclaimed.

"Shhh, it's not, once you get it."

John groaned, "You've been saying that for the past hour!"

"Because it's true, as long as you know what a tuned guitar sounds like it's not hard to tune."

John tried again but was quickly getting very frustrated and if he wasn't careful he'd be snapping a string soon. The way he was twisting the peg and he growled.

Paul placed his hand on John's and looked into his eyes, giving John an understanding look, "Let's take a break okay? Just put it aside for now. It was hard for me when I was learning too.” He murmured softly.

John nodded and quickly removed his guitar, leaning it against the wall. Paul did the same, reclining on the bed.

"So, um, about the other day..." John started.

Paul didn't say anything but looked intently at John. Curious as to what he was about to say. He had a vague idea but he wanted John to speak for himself and to not put words into the other's mouth.

"I... I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to make you feel umcomfortable," John said, not meeting Paul's gaze. He really hadn't he knew it was an impolite topic of conversation to bring up and he easily picked up on the fact that he shouldn't have brought it up in the first place.

"John? Look at me," Paul said, his tone was so soft and soothing it nearly made John want to cry in relief at the tone. He knew John hadn't meant anything by it and that's really the point. The apology was just making sure Paul knew it.

John slowly rose his eyes to look into Paul's sympathetic ones. The ones brimming with care and acceptance and forgiveness.

"I know you didn't. It's not really a topic I bring up very often is all. And it's not the most comfortable thing for me to talk about okay? Financial situations just aren't good topics.”

John nodded.

"But it's okay. I'm not upset at you or anything," Paul reassured.

John nodded again. Words still stuck in his throat and unable to know what to reply with.

"And you.. I mean, there's nothing to apologize for, honest," Paul smiled at him.

That smile assured John that things were all right and Paul wasn't holding anything against him.

John hummed in response, and smiled. 

There were a few moments of silence, but it wasn't awkward. It was a calm silence between two people who really didn't feel the need to really say much. John's eyes were searching all over Paul's bedroom. There was a pile of books on a small desk by the window, he figured those were his school books. There was also a shelf with a lot of CD's and records, a brand new stereo and a very old record player. John asked himself why didn't he have one of those. He would have to ask Paul where he got his.

John's eyes fell on the dresser below the record shelf. There was a hairbrush, a jar of gel, a perfume, John smiled, Paul smelled nice, maybe that was the reason, but what caught his eye were two photographs sitting together in the corner of that dresser. Instinctively he adjusted his glasses to have a better look, not that it helped, really.

Paul who hadn't missed any of John's meticulous observing started chewing his lip when he realized that John was observing those two photos.

"The one next to the mirror is my dad and my brother Mike, they went fishing one weekend and came back with that huge fish" he smiled at the memory of his brother being all jumpy because they had caugth that tremendous fish "The other one" he continued "well, that's me mum".

John who had been listening to Paul's words without taking his eyes off the pictures gave a slow nod before turning his eyes to his new friend and gave a sympathetic sad smile. Paul silently appreciated this and smiled back. Their smiles were pretty much the same.

"I.. " John started but was unable to finish.

"Don't be. Shit happens, you know?"

"What..? I mean.. how.." John's voice was just above a whisper "shit" he said.

Paul couldn't help but smile at his friend's struggling, "Cancer", John wouldn't have been able to hear Paul if it wasn't because for some reason beyond their understanding they were now sitting closer.

"Oh," John said. That was a terrible way to die. Especially leaving two young boys and their father alone, although his situation hadn't been that different. "My mom..." John began, he wanted to see if Paul would even be interested.

He turned his eyes to Paul and found the boy looking at him with sad eyes and a reassuring smile, which gave him the courage to continue.

"She left me when I was young too, too young to remember, my aunt saved me, I guess. I....I'm not supposed to even be here. I was a mistake." He hadn't even told Stu this information. But Paul, Paul seemed to understand.

"You're not a mistake," Paul said.

"That's what I was told, everytime she saw me," John replied. His voice was soft and strained and he felt the need to cry, not with relief this time but in sadness. It was hard on him, walking around and knowing your mother saw you as nothing more than some fuck up she decided not to abort. There he was, the product of his heroin addicted mother and her lack of care in safe sex.”

"Well, you seem to be making my life quite right."

John looked up at Paul and gave a small smile, "Thanks." It didn't help a ton, but it was enough of a nudge to push him out of the melancholy state of mind he'd staurated himself in.

Paul smiled back and handed him back his guitar before going back to helping him learn to tune it.

John's eyes looked to Paul's hands. Long fingers, perfect nails, not one sign of dirt. Well, Paul's hands were certainly beautiful. He wondered if he would ever see them play, not just tune.

Paul's voice brought John back from handland "Wanna try again?". His voice was cheerful, and John wondered how on Earth was that possible.. They had just been talking about his dead mum. There was something else in his voice, though. Something soothing.

John nodded and picked his guitar back up and started to try and tune it again. His fingers were hurting however so he searched his pockets and procured the pick Paul had bought him

When Paul's eyes landed upon the pick he smiled at John. It was nice, actually, to know John had been carrying around the guitar pick that he'd bought him. It filled him with a bit of pride and happiness.

"Yeah well," was all John said in responce but he was smiling. The pick was really nice and it was cute that Paul had bought it for him, and if he hadn't the chance of their meeting ever again was awfully small and they wouldn't be there on Paul's bed.

Paul shook his head and laughed quietly at John's embarrassment. He watched as he tried to get the last string on his guitar by himself without help from Paul. Not without quite a bit of difficulty. After a few slightly irritated attempts he got it.

"You did it Johnny," Paul said, he smiled at him. It really was wonderful he'd done it.

"Yeah, I did," John said, excitement evident in his voice.

"That's fantastic!"

John smiled, "Thank you."

"Someone needed to teach you," Paul playfully smirked, but his face quickly softened, "You're welcome."

John started to pack away his guitar when Paul hesitantly tapped John on the shoulder. He turned to look at him and he could see the question forming in his eyes. John looked at him expectantly.

"Soon?" Paul asked.

"Clingy bastard," John joked, "Yeah soon. I'll call ya."

Paul was satisfied with that answer and smiled at John as he left. All he had to do now was wait for that phone call.


End file.
